<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Yellow Roses, Purple Hyacinths &amp; Marigolds by imnotokay_imgay</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24241858">Yellow Roses, Purple Hyacinths &amp; Marigolds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotokay_imgay/pseuds/imnotokay_imgay'>imnotokay_imgay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Road To Healing Takes Love [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Anxiety Attacks, Homophobia, I don't know what else to put so I'm really sorry if you get triggered by something, If you want another tag then feel free to let me know in the comments and I'll add it, Self-Harm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:14:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24241858</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotokay_imgay/pseuds/imnotokay_imgay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What's up chucklefucks? It's me again. If you're here reading this then either you're one of my friends who wants to be supportive or you're a random stranger who's really dedicated to reading shitty stories. If you do happen to be here and you actually read through it let me know what you think (btw if you think it's absolutely awful then please do tell me) so yeah. Hope you guys enjoy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Road To Healing Takes Love [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749772</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Yellow Roses, Purple Hyacinths &amp; Marigolds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/addicted_2_fandoms/gifts">addicted_2_fandoms</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is for addicted_2_fandoms again because vae're absolutely amazing and I love vaem so much in the most platonic way possible. If you're one of my other friends on here then let me know and you can have the work too. There is literally no other reason for it except you guys are awesome.</p><p>Nox</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>22 July, 2019</b>
  <b><br/>
</b>
  <span>Truth or dare games were fun and all, but sometimes James really hated his new group. Like today, when Matthew had dared him to walk to class holding hands with Will. And Will had actually done it. Matthew was a singer and played the french horn better than anyone else James knew, but he could be a bit...unsympathetic sometimes. 'A bit bent' was a polite way of describing most of the group, but only Will and Matthew's parents knew about it and were fine with it. That meant he had a bit of a...lack of understanding as to why James was reluctant to go through with it. So he and Will had walked hand in hand to class, James' face bright red and Will smirking at everyone who turned to stare at them. They had just walked through the door when James pulled his hand out of Will's and stepped away. Will threw him a wink and blew a kiss, which made James irrationally angry.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Yeah okay, dare's over William."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>James' voice came out cold and sharp, surprising even him. He saw confusion and hurt flicker across Will's face, a slight falter in his grin, his brow creasing slightly, bright blue eyes narrowed and no longer twinkling. Then his expression returned to normal. His grin was back in place but there was something mechanical about it, something that wasn't quite right for Will. James ignored it though. He couldn't look at Will, couldn't meet his eyes and try to explain the way his hands were shaking and his heart was racing and he couldn't stop his mind racing. So he ignored him, because something that James had plenty of practice with was ignoring and running away from things he didn't know how to deal with. So class passed almost normally, except for the fact that Will almost never took his eyes off James and James didn't look at Will once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the final bell went, James walked out, not waiting for Will as he usually did. So for the first time that year, both boys walked home alone. James found himself constantly looking next to him, half expecting to see Will grinning at him or fiddling playing a game on his phone. He had never realised how lonely it was on his own, except now that he had friends and he was on his own it was...quiet. Too quiet. He was alone with his thoughts. He chewed bitterly on them, regretting snapping at Will. It hadn't been his fault. He was just mucking around and having fun, being Will, and James had gone and gotten annoyed because...because...he realised what had happened. Stupid fucking anxiety. Why couldn't he just be normal? People were almost always fine with that sort of thing, and Will hadn't meant any harm by it. But still, he couldn't help but remember the comments from his perpetually absent father, his drunkard mother, his high school tormenter Christopher. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dirty faggot...not good enough...only a curse...shouldn't be allowed...not really you...disgusting...</span>
  </em>
  <span>the thoughts went round and round inside his brain in a never ending loop. He wished Will were there to distract him. He realised without thinking that he had ended up at the River Café. Of course, it was the 22nd, the anniversary of his failed attempt at...no, he refused to think about it. He sat down in his usual booth and was startled to find someone sliding in after him. Someone that seemed familiar in a vague way that he couldn't quite pinpoint.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Hey, you're James, right? I'm Gabriel, I've been wanting to talk to you."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>James stared at him. Who was this boy? Why did he sound like...who did he sound like? And why did he look familiar? James had never seen him before. But he found he couldn't say anything.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"I'm Will's brother. He's talked about you a lot."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Ah, that was why he seemed familiar. He had the same warm smile that Will sometimes had, the same slight accent that James couldn't place. He shrank back. Surely Gabriel was here because of what had happened in drama. Drama in drama. The thought was almost enough to make him smile. Gabriel leaned towards him and James felt the smile doused by icy cold. He had no idea what to do. That was why he was surprised for the second time that day when he again lashed out, again quite unreasonably.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"What do you want?"</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Gabriel made a calming gesture, palms upward on the table in a gesture that said 'trust me', but James couldn't. How could he? He could barely hear anything over the roar of blood in his ears, could hardly breathe around the tightness in his chest. He stared at Gabriel with wide eyes, internally praying that he wasn't about to get punched by this guy. He really didn't need his day to get worse. He realised he was biting his lip, he could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He raised his hand to wipe away the blood, realised his hands were shaking, and shoved them into his lap, sucking his lip into his mouth instead. Gabriel had that honeyed concern flowing through his words now, the same way Will did when James spaced out. It was warm and low and charming and calm and too good to be real. He was almost certain his whole body was shaking at this point. He could feel himself shivering. Gabriel reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, stopping when he flinched away, trying to melt into the seat. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Hey, it's okay, James. I'm not going to hurt you. I just wanted to let you know something about Will."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>James barely heard him. He couldn't hear anything, really. Everything sounded muffled, as if he were underwater. The world seemed to be crystal clear and passing by almost in slow motion. And all he could think was </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh fuck no, please no, not now in front of a stranger, not in front of Will's brother, fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Then he heard something else, something so implicitly safe and familiar that it pierced the bubble around him.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"James."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The voice was so Will but so not. It had the same accent, the same stress in the first half, the same low pitch, the same warm tone that made him feel so safe and </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But it wasn't Will, he knew it wasn't Will, because Will would have called him Jamie, not James. It was enough though. He was somewhere real again.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"I want you to tell me five things you can see, James."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He tried to pull in a breath, barely managing it, looked around him, counted.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>1. Gabriel's golden eyes watching him.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>2. The dark wood of the floorboards.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>3. The dark blue tablecloth.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>4. The painting of a waterfall on the opposite wall.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>5. The menu sitting in front of him on the table.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Gabriel nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answers. Then he gave the next request.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Can you tell me four things that you can feel, James?"</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So he tried to breath again. This time it was a bit easier. It didn't feel like his throat was closing up so much. Then he counted again.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>1. The soft cushion on the chair.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>2. The smooth silk of his navy blue school tie.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>3. The warm breeze that was blowing through the open windows of the café. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>4. The soft cotton tablecloth.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Gabriel gave him the next request, and James knew what it would be. The pattern was familiar.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Three things you can hear, James?"</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His breathing was easier now. What could he hear?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>1. Gabriel talking to him.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>2. His slowing heartbeat.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>3. The ringing of the cash register.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He could breath now, could hear the roar in his ears dying away. Then Gabriel spoke again, continuing to go through the grounding pattern, his eyes never leaving James.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Two things you can smell."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Breath in, breath out, that was it, in and out, he could almost breath normally again.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>1. Hot strong coffee.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>2. Roses from outside.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Even the shaking was dying down now. Gabriel gave him the final instruction.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Okay, last thing, one thing you can taste."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>What could he taste?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>1. Chewing gum. Strawberry. He'd had some at lunch.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Okay, he was good. Except his hands were still shaking. But he could breathe again, so he was okay. He realised Gabriel was still watching him. He flushed. He'd never had one that bad in front of a stranger. But Gabriel seemed okay with it. Okay, James, keep on breathing. Gabriel looked...sympathetic? Not quite, but he looked as if he understood. He wasn't judging James, just as Will never had. His voice still had the honeyed charisma oozing from it when he spoke again, reassuring James.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"It's okay, James. There's no shame in having anxiety. But, and please believe that I'm not going to hurt you, I wanted to talk to you about my brother."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>About Will. James didn't know what to say. Really, what could he say? So he just nodded. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deep breaths, James. He said he won't hurt you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And even though James still had no idea what Gabriel wanted to say, he found that it was okay. He trusted Gabriel. He'd helped him through an anxiety attack and not judged, known exactly what to do. So he nodded for Gabriel to go on, and Gabriel did, his eyes never leaving James'.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"My brother, William, he's a bit...privileged. He's an amazing guy, don't get me wrong. He's smart and funny and talented and charming and good looking, he's everything a guy might want to be. But the thing is, he's always had it very easy. He's never struggled with something like anxiety or depression or intrusive thoughts. He's never been made fun of or gotten picked on. The thing is, he doesn't always understand these things. He's helped you a lot, I know, but he's not able to completely comprehend it. And with the thing that happened today in drama-"</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He broke off, seeing James pale and duck his head. He paused for a minute, watching James carefully the whole time. James took a deep breath. He could do this. He nodded for Gabriel to continue. So he did, still watching James carefully.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Basically what I'm trying to say is, our parents are, as you know from Will, extremely accepting. He came out to them as bi about two years ago and they just went with it. They just told him to be sensible and that as long as he was comfortable with himself it was okay to be anything he wanted. He told me a bit of what happened in drama class, he doesn't understand what happened. James, it's entirely up to you, but I think it might be a good idea to explain what happened."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He held out his hand to James, who took it and shook. Then Gabriel stood up and left him alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had barely been alone for five minutes, cradling a cup of coffee that was too hot to drink, when Will walked in. He shrank back, hoping to avoid his notice, but Will scanned the room and his eyes alighted upon James. He strode over, swift and sure of himself. James could feel his hands shaking again. He made himself breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>In and out, in and out, in...and out...</span>
  </em>
  <span>fuck. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. He lay them flat on the table, staring at them, willing them to stop shaking. They wouldn't. He didn't even realise Will had reached the table and sat down. A hand covered one his, warm and firm. He looked up abruptly, meeting blue eyes that sparkled in the late afternoon sun coming through the window. And Will...he looked different, and James couldn't work out what it was. Until he did. The smile, bright and carefree wasn't there, nor the mischievous smirk, nor the warm kind smile that radiated nothing but love and sometimes concern. Will's face was entirely blank. He didn't say a single word, simple sat opposite James, one steady hand covering one of James' trembling ones. The simple gesture was familiar and comforting. James swallowed, suddenly nervous. He had no idea what to say. How could he apologise for what he'd said? How could he thank Will for coming and sharing this day with him even after what he'd said? How could he explain to Will why he'd said it? But he had to try, because he'd owed it to Will. Will, who had sat beside him through dozens of anxiety attacks, never once judging him. Will, who had made it so much easier to conquer the demons inside his head. And maybe he owed it to himself to explain, because he remembered the flash of hurt and surprise in Will's eyes, and it hurt him to think of it. And maybe, just maybe, he owed it to Gabriel too, who had explained to him why Will didn't understand and helped him in exactly the same way Will would have. So he tried.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"William."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He saw the almost imperceptible tightening of Will's lips at his full name. He couldn't do this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes he could. He had to.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He took a deep breath and tried again.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Will. I- I'm so sorry. I didn't want- I didn't mean it to come out like that."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Now he could almost read Will's expression. Only almost. It was still shut off, guarded, and it hurt James to think of the fact that it was entirely his fault. When Will spoke it was so unlike him, so unlike Gabriel that James almost flinched away from him. It wasn't warm and full of charisma or mischief, it was laced with concern or sweetness, it wasn't playful or flirty. It was flat, almost cold and icy, almost what James had sounded like only a few hours ago.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"What did you mean then, Jem?"</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Then James did flinch. He pulled his hands off the table, away from Will. He had told Will he hated the name because it was what his parents called him, and so Will had been careful never to use it or let the other boys use it. He knew how much James resented his parents, knew some of what happened at home, and he had never before called him that. James knew his hands were shaking even more now, he could feel them. As he flinched away his lips had twisted into a bitter smirk, cold and cruel and slightly sad. He hadn't even realised it until he saw Will's eyes widen for a second. He quickly wiped his face clear, flinching back again when Will reached towards him. He looked even more hurt now. James felt the irrational surge of anger again but this time he fought to control it. He wouldn't let this get even worse.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"You know I hate that name."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Instead of angry his voice sounded miserable. Pathetic, now he seemed like some sort of emotional idiot. He tried again, his voice steadier.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"My parents call me that, when they're telling me that they're doing something for my own good and it hurts."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Will didn't look so hurt now. He looked more as if he understood, even if he hated that James flinched away. Then he spoke, and his voice was more reminiscent of its usual tone. There was life and emotion in it. It was low and steady, with a hint of warmth, a note of apology, a drop of understanding.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"I'm sorry too, James."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>James. Better than Jem but...he liked when Will called him Jamie. No one else called him that. It made him feel special, like he was worth something to Will, who understood him as he didn't think people would ever try to, no one except Will and now Gabriel. And because of that he found the strength to go on, hands shaking and voice quiet but steady.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"When I got angry today, at the beginning of drama. It wasn't your fault."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He looked up at Will shyly. Will didn't look angry or upset or hurt anymore. He looked...tired, absolutely exhausted by the day. Truth be told, James was tired too.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Will, I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just- it was my- my anxiety."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He looked down again, ashamed of admitting it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"I'm not comfortable with people knowing about me. I hate being affectionate, especially in public. Most people I hate touching me. Then you- you were so open and casual about it, just letting the world know, and I can't do that- it isn't me. But I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gone off at you. I just don't like people knowing."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The silence stretched on. James almost thought that Will had gotten up and left, so silence was he. But he couldn't bring himself to look up and see if Will had finally tired of him and just...walked away. Of course, he would have been disappointed, but certainly not surprised. Not after the events of the day. Not after everything Will had done for him and he had been unable to return. Logically, he knew that Will was still seated in front of him, but he still didn't want to look up. What would he see if he met Will's gaze? Would there be condemnation? Disappointment? Anger? Hurt? Or that cold mask of indifference, nothing at all. The thought of Will's eyes so lifeless made him shiver. Will without his eyes twinkling with mischief and life wasn't really Will. It was a cold parody of him, and James hated it, hated that he'd caused it. He wanted to look up, he desperately wanted to meet Will's eyes and see them crinkled at the edges with a smile, one eye closed in a conspiratorial wink only for him, bright blue gaze blazing with love and happiness. But he knew he wouldn't see it. But he heard a voice, one that he wasn't expecting. For a startled second he thought it was Gabriel again. The voice was warm and understanding, it was low and sweet, smooth as molasses. There was no condemnation or hurt or anger, there was affection and kindness. It had the gentle lilt that both brothers shared.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"I'm so sorry. I didn't realise."</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It was Gabriel, he was sure of it. He shut his eyes, not willing to see him, because seeing him would break the slim hope he had that maybe it really was Will.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>"Jamie?"</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His eyes flew open and he snapped his head up, because it wasn't Gabriel. Because it really was Will. Only Will called him Jamie, not Gabriel. And he knew he was right when his eyes met bright blue ones, sparkling in the dimming light of the afternoon. He could see Will, and he was so thankful that for a few moments all he could do was take in the sight of him, tousled black hair, twinkling blue eyes, crooked smile and slightly dishevelled uniform, so uniquely Will that it almost made him recoil at how well he knew the sight of him. Then he spoke again, low and smooth and warm, and James could hear exactly how it was different to Gabriel.</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span>"Jamie, I am so sorry. I never thought about what it was like for you. My parents are so okay with all of it, and so are Matthew's, and sometimes we forget that the rest of you aren't as lucky as us. I won't do it again, not unless you want me to- I mean, not that I plan on it. I just meant- well, whatever you want, okay?"</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And James could feel the corners of his lips twitching. Will's hand was still resting on the table from before, and this time it was James who placed a hand over the top. Because this was Will, charming and funny and supportive, the first person in a long time that had sought out James as a friend, as someone as close as a brother. And James loved it, loved the feeling of security that came from Will, the confidence and certainty he carried himself with, as if he were completely at ease with the world and the way he treated James as though he were the same as him, as if nothing could touch them as long as they were together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so it was an extremely caffeinated pair of teenage boys that walked out of the River Café, having consumed three coffees each in the space of two hours. They were talking and laughing as they walked, sometimes making faces or throwing a mock punch at each other. They looked completely at ease with each other, and they walked as though they could conquer the world. Both of them had wildly tousled hair and dishevelled uniforms, both were bright eyed and smiling. And even if it was only for the fifteen minutes it took to reach the first boy's house, no one had to know that. The rest of the world didn't need to know that when they had embraced and the shorter of the two boys had gone inside things had gone rapidly and completely downhill, that was no one's business. But the taller of the two boys knew. He didn't walk away immediately, instead leaning against the fence outside the house watching the world go by. He heard yelling and breaking glass and loud thumps of bodies hitting walls, he could hear cries of pain and anger, heard a name being yelled out, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jem</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he could see the dim shadows of two figures, one pressed into a corner and two others towering over it. But he was the only one who saw or heard anything. And the rest of the world didn't notice or didn't care, but he did, and his blue eyes narrowed, blazing with fury and helplessness instead of the usual mischief and joy. That was his best friend, his brother in all but blood, and he was powerless to help him. So when the noise finally died down, and two of the figures had left, he saw and heard one last thing as he crept back to the window of the house, unnoticed by anyone else. He saw more than a shadow, he saw an actual person. He saw a boy his age, with dark and messy hair, and a lean frame curled into a ball in one corner of the room. He saw his thin shoulders shaking and heard the occasional harsh gasp. As the boy lifted his head momentarily he saw dark brown eyes rimmed with red, he saw a dark bruise blooming on the boy's left cheek and a red handprint overlaying it. He knew that he would not see him the next day. But the boy never saw him, as he curled back into a tight ball, numb to the world. Then another sight caught the sharp blue eyes of the boy watching. A tear in the side of his shirt, the skin exposed. There was a large patch littered in scars and pale red lines that were evidently cuts, but the other thing was a few wounds that were dripping blood, and as he watched he saw shards of glass glistening in the cuts as the sun hit them. The blue eyed boy shivered and slunk away from the window, walking back to his own house. A boy slightly older boy greeted him at the front door, identical in every way except his eyes, bright gold instead of fierce blue. And as the blue eyed boy bowed his head, the boy with golden eyes put an arm around his shoulders and led him inside wordlessly, shutting the door behind them. It was comforting and loving, such a different scene to the one he had just witnessed that he had to suppress a sob, thinking of his other brother, alone and hurt and without comfort. But the boy with golden eyes understood. He sat on the bed with his blue eyed younger brother, listened patiently as he told him everything that had happened, why he was so late home, and then he held him as he started crying, shoulders shaking as he sobbed into his older brother's shirt, taking comfort from the hug and the familiar woodsmoke smell of his brother's shirt. Finally he calmed down, and his brother tucked him into bed still in his uniform, then sat and read out of a book until he fell asleep, still thinking about his dark eyed friend who also had eyes that were red rimmed with crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two boys. Both asleep with red rimmed eyes and slight frowns. One blue eyed and safe and comfortable, his brother on the bed next to his. The other brown eyed and injured and numb, alone and curled up on the floor in one corner. Best friends, brothers in all but blood. Never further apart than in that moment.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>On the title, the flowers used represent different ideas. The yellow rose is for friendship, love and affection. The purple hyacinth is sorrow or asking for forgiveness or regret. Marigold is creativity but can also be pain or jealousy.</p><p>Also, hey everyone, I'm sorry this turned out so long. If you're reading this then I'm going to assume you've read the story. Thanks if you did, I really didn't intend it to be so long.</p><p>Nox</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>